


i've got a love that keeps me waiting

by jessalae



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Edging, Mosaic Timeline (The Magicians: A Life in the Day), Multi, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Polyamory, dom/sub dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:07:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28481397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessalae/pseuds/jessalae
Summary: “If it stops being fun for you, darling, we’ll call it off,” Eliot said soothingly, on day one. “You have a safeword and you know how to use it.” He stroked his thumb down Quentin’s cheek. “I did wonder if this was going to be more than you could handle.”Okay, well,thatwasn’t going to fucking stand. “I canhandleit,” Quentin snapped. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”“That’s right,” Eliot said. “Wehave to like it. You just have to be good."
Relationships: Arielle/Eliot Waugh, Arielle/Quentin Coldwater, Arielle/Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh, Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Comments: 9
Kudos: 63
Collections: Peaches and Plums Stockings 2020





	i've got a love that keeps me waiting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stormcoming](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormcoming/gifts).



> Thank you to Sylph for betaing! Title from "Lonely Boy" by The Black Keys
> 
> In this fic, Arielle, Quentin, and Eliot are in a poly relationship that includes romantic and sexual attraction and contact between Eliot and Arielle. There is one scene in which they have sex without Quentin's physical involvement; that scene begins "Quentin wasn’t even _in the house_ " and ends "so that was some small revenge."

Quentin would have thought that having two sexual partners would result in him having _more_ orgasms, right? Not fewer? That would be the like, logical fucking conclusion. And for a while, for a blissful year and a bit, that’s what it had been like.

And then — his partners had gotten to talking.

And, okay, it was at least a _little_ bit his fault. Because he did love it when Eliot fucked him hard with Quentin’s hands pinned over his head, didn’t touch his cock once the whole time, left him aching and twitching for like half an hour until he finally got his fill of kissing Quentin and stroked him to completion in roughly ten seconds. He loved it when Ari was chasing her second or third orgasm of the evening, bouncing on his cock as she rubbed her clit, and he got so fucking close and she pulled off him until he’d calmed down a little so she could finish with him hard inside her. The thrill of having to wait, of teetering right on the edge until they said he could let go, the things they said to him when he’d been good and earned it — they both knew how much he fucking loved it.

But that didn’t mean they had to _conspire against him_.

-

“If it stops being fun for you, darling, we’ll call it off,” Eliot said soothingly, on day one. “You have a safeword and you know how to use it.” He stroked his thumb down Quentin’s cheek. “I did wonder if this was going to be more than you could handle.”

Okay, well, _that_ wasn’t going to fucking stand. “I can _handle_ it,” Quentin snapped. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.” He rubbed his stubbled cheek deliberately against the tender skin of Eliot’s inner thigh, making Eliot hiss and yank on his hair as a consequence.

“That’s right,” Eliot said. “ _We_ have to like it. You just have to be good. Now come on, suck my cock. You can— oh, _fuck_ , baby— live vicariously through my— mm, yes— through my orgasms.”

Quentin drew off of Eliot’s cock with a wet pop. “You know that’s not how anything works,” he said.

Eliot yanked on his hair again, and Quentin went back to work, eyes fluttering shut as his lips stretched over Eliot’s cock. “Maybe not,” Eliot sighed. “Mm, but I’m very interested to test the theory. Come on, deeper. Be good. _There_ you go.”

-

“Isn’t this almost as good?” Arielle asked in the evening of day two as she dug the heels of her hands into Quentin’s aching shoulders, massaging away the day’s work of tile sorting and pattern building. Her palms moved smoothly over Quentin’s skin, their passage slicked with the thick oil they used for both massages and lube. “It’s a kind of release, isn’t it?”

“Definitely not as good,” Quentin said, strangled. The corners of his eyes prickled with tears from the satisfying ache of the massage.

Arielle hummed in acknowledgement and leaned on a particularly sore spot with her whole weight, making him groan. “Poor dear,” she said. Her kneading hands worked their way down his back, loosening the knots at the base of his spine. “You’re doing so well, though, being patient for us.”

“ _Patient_ is a strong word,” Eliot drawled from his seat by the fireplace. “He was whining up a storm all day while we were working.”

Quentin _felt_ Arielle’s energy shift, a subtle change in the way she sat over the backs of his thighs. He shivered at the edge in her voice, playful but dangerous, when she said, “Is that so?” She slid her hands further down to cup his ass, squeezed hard enough that he made a small, pained noise. “Were you bothering Eliot with your complaints?”

“He didn’t say I was bothering him,” Quentin protested.

“He doesn’t need to say,” Arielle chided. Her thumbs slipped down between his cheeks, drawing them apart. “You know how to be good. And you know he and I are going to talk, and you’ll end up with consequences.” 

Quentin whined, his cock jumping to attention against the mattress. She pressed the tip of her finger against his hole and he whined louder, wiggled his hips.

“But perhaps consequences are what you’re aiming for,” Arielle mused. Her oil-coated finger pushed inside, and Quentin moaned happily, made himself relax to let her in deeper. “Perhaps you think you can get what you want by being bad.”

Quentin knew he shouldn’t, he _knew_ , but it was so tempting— “Seems like it’s working so far,” he slurred, face pressed into the pillow as she pumped her finger slowly in and out of him.

“I’m sure it does,” she said. “It’s going to seem like it’s working right up until it doesn’t. That _is_ the whole point.” She had two fingers in him now, thrusting just deep enough to _almost_ hit his prostate, tantalizingly close but not there. “Eliot, love, would you excuse us for a while? Unless you’d like to watch.”

“I’ll leave you to it this time,” Eliot said. Quentin heard the floorboards creak as he stopped by the bed on his way out, the soft peck as he kissed Arielle. “I’m sure I’ll be able to hear when you’re done from outside. Have fun.”

“ _I_ certainly will,” Arielle said. Quentin groaned.

-

By the end of day three, Quentin was no longer allowed to fuck anyone. Arielle rode him for all of two minutes before she sighed and lifted herself off him, pressing down hard on his ribs to keep him from trying to arch back up into her.

“This isn’t going to work,” she said. “You’re too hard.”

“You like that, though,” Quentin gasped. “You like me filling you up, hitting all the right spots.” His hips jolted involuntarily, his cock searching for the slick heat of her cunt again.

“I do, and it feels wonderful, love, but I know if I keep going, I’ll take you too far.” She dragged a finger over his bottom lip, spit-wet and red from biting. “I think I’ll just have to use your mouth.”

“Maybe if I’m not, like, _in_ you, but,” Quentin suggested, desperate. “You could grind your clit on me? Against me? Until you come?”

Her clever eyes narrowed, a small smile quirked the corner of her perfect pink mouth. “We can try it,” she says. “You’ve been good enough to earn that, at least.”

Quentin moaned as she repositioned herself, folding her body down over his and sliding forward against him. It was almost as good as being inside her, wet and hot but without the squeezing pressure of her all around him. Not _as_ good, but almost as good. Good, with her tits pressed against his chest, peaked nipples dragging over his flushed skin — good, with her hips rocking against him, her teeth worrying at his neck—

“No,” she said sadly, lifting back off him. Quentin yelled at the loss of friction and pressure, the ache of unfulfilled desire sitting heavy and tight in his balls. “No, you’re still too close. It was a good idea, though.” She kissed him hard, nipping at his slack lips. “You know how much I love to come against that pretty cock.”

She moved up his body and straddled his face, and he sucked at her clit and let her ride his tongue until she shook apart over him, his chin and neck drenched in the taste of her. Then she let him touch himself a little while she brought herself off a second time on her fingers. Afterward, he realized that concession may have been a double-edged sword, since it took a lot of time and careful meditation-style breathing to draw himself back from the edge so he could actually sleep. He thought it had probably still been worth it.

-

On day four, Eliot was buried in him to the hilt, the thick base of his cock stretching Quentin’s rim, when he said, “I think this is the last time I’m going to fuck you until we’re done with this.”

Quentin moaned, his heart twisting in his chest. “Please, no, I can hold back— El, I can, I _can_ —” He broke off in a wordless shout as Eliot angled his hips just right on the next thrust, lighting up all his nerves. He dropped his head and looked back down himself, his cock swinging angry-red and untouched with every slow, deep stroke, a thread of precome stretched between his tip and the sheets below. _Fuck_ , that was, Quentin didn’t generally think his own body was much to look at, but apparently when he was this turned on even the sight of his own twitching need was incredibly erotic. He squeezed his eyes shut, tried not to clamp down too hard as Eliot fucked into him.

“I know you think that,” Eliot said. “And I’m sure you would try, but you know Ari and I know better than you do, right, baby? That’s why we’re in charge. We know what you can take.” His voice was rough, his breathing harsh. His cock felt so _fucking_ hard and hot and big, sliding in and out of Quentin’s body, shoving its way into the blazing-hot core of him, each thrust pushing both of them just a little further towards completion. “I’ll miss this ass, though, for the next few days. Have I told you yet today how perfectly fuckable it is?”

Quentin didn’t reply, all his effort caught up in holding himself back from the edge. He knew he should say something, tell Eliot he was too close, but even opening his mouth to say it felt like it might be the last straw, make him shoot all over the sheets below him.

He was saved — or tortured, tortured might be more accurate — when Eliot drew smoothly out of him, the slapping noise of his thrusts replaced with the fast, slick sound of jerking off. “Deep breaths, baby,” he growled. “Hold it in. Gonna come on your back now, you just stay still, let me admire that beautiful stretched-out hole— oh fuck, Christ, fuck—”

Quentin actually bit down on the pillow in front of his face when he felt Eliot’s come splatter hot across his body, bit down so hard his jaw fucking ached. He felt raw with unsatisfied desire, broken open and left a shivering, desperate mess.

But Eliot was still there, his huge hands massaging Quentin’s hips, rubbing over his back, smearing his come across Quentin’s superheated skin. “My beautiful boy,” he sighed. “You’re so good. You’re doing so good, Q, you’re being so lovely for us.” Quentin’s cock was still achingly hard, but the twitching tension was receding from his thighs as Eliot soothed him. “You’re doing amazing, baby. Look at you, calming down for me, relaxing. As soon as you’re ready, I’m going to cuddle you, help bring you the rest of the way down.”

“I didn’t come,” Quentin panted. 

“That’s right, you did good, baby.”

“So you can, you can fuck me tomorrow? Again?”

“No,” Eliot said sympathetically, stroking the small of Quentin’s back as Quentin collapsed forward, his arms giving out, whining into the pillows. “But you can wait for it. Just a few more days. We’ll find things to do in the meantime.”

-

Quentin wasn’t even _in the house_ when they kicked things off on day five — it was pure luck that he passed by the window, arms full of firewood, at the right moment to hear Eliot say, “Arielle, sweetheart, how you would feel about getting fucked after dinner?”

“I wish I could,” she replied, “but Quentin’s definitely too close for that.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Eliot said, casual. “That’s why I was going to suggest _I_ fuck you.”

Quentin’s knees gave out on him a little, and half his load of firewood fell to the ground with a crash. “Shit,” he said, feeling like he’d been punched in the stomach, if punches in the stomach also made his dick instantly hard.

His partners must have heard the noise, but they didn’t acknowledge it. “I could go for that,” Arielle said. “You’re feeling interested, I assume?”

“Very interested.” A rustle of fabric, a soft, wet noise: kissing. Deep, hungry kissing. “It’s been a little while.”

“It has,” she agreed. “I’ll need some warming up, to be able to fit you in.”

“Q can put his mouth to good use, working on that. And then he can watch us, as long as he’s good and doesn’t touch himself.” Eliot’s voice pitched a little louder. “How does that sound, darling?”

Quentin groaned and leaned heavily against the side of the house. “Good,” he called back weakly. He cleared his throat. “Great. Love to.”

He stayed halfway hard all through dinner, heat flaring up in his cheeks every time one of them asked him to get up and grab something and then looked smugly at the tented front of his baggy Fillorian pants. They made him stay dressed even when they were both stretched out naked and breathtakingly gorgeous on the bed, touching each other all over, kissing lazily like nothing about this situation was even slightly urgent. Which, for them, it probably wasn’t.

“Well, Q?” Eliot asked after a while, arching an eyebrow. “You know your job.”

Quentin positioned himself carefully, up on his knees instead of flat on his front. He might be able to rut against the mattress once or twice, but they’d catch him before he could do anything but torment himself, and then he’d really be in for it. Better to avoid giving himself the temptation. “Which hole?” he asked, glancing from Arielle to Eliot.

Eliot pressed a kiss to the side of Arielle’s neck. “Preference, darling? I could enjoy either.”

“Mm, I haven’t quite decided yet,” Arielle mused. “He’d better work on them both.”

“You heard the lady,” Eliot said sternly, amusement shining in his eyes at Quentin’s needy whimper. “Cleaning charms, then work in the correct order. Get her opened up for this big thick cock you can’t have.”

So Quentin ate her out until she came bucking against his tongue, Eliot swallowing up her cries as they kissed, then moved lower and buried his face between her cheeks. The wet spot on the front of his pants grew steadily as he dripped precome onto the linen, tried not to let the fabric brush against the swollen head of his cock for fear that little bit of sensation might set him off, here with the sharp taste of her slick in his mouth and her panting encouragement echoing in his ears. 

When Arielle judged that he’d done a good enough job, she decided to take Eliot in her ass so she could sink all the way onto him, and Quentin had to just _watch_ , sitting on the end of the bed, hands fisted in the sheets, as Eliot rocked up into her and she told Quentin all about how good his huge cock felt, how much he must miss getting stretched open like this. They wouldn't even let him _close his eyes_ , no matter how he whimpered and begged, until Arielle had come again and Eliot spilled into the quaking heat of her, then ordered Quentin to clean her up with his tongue.

Quentin’s pants definitely needed to be washed, after that, but it was Eliot’s turn at the laundry, so that was some small revenge.

-

In the night between days six and seven he almost ruined it all, and not even on purpose. He was fast asleep, having one of those dreams where there was sex _happening_ , he knew there was, but the people he was having it with were blurry and indistinct, the pleasure he was getting from them amorphous. Still, he _was_ getting pleasure. He had his mouth on someone’s chest, sucking at a nipple, a stomach or a thigh or something pressed against his cock, hot and firm and perfect to rut against. He could feel it in the tips of his toes, in the roots of his teeth, a molten pool of exquisite tension deep in his core, boiling down to nothing, distilling itself to pure ecstasy, almost there—

He woke nearly screaming, Eliot’s hands firm on one arm and one leg, Arielle’s on the other. His hips thrust frantically up against nothing, his cock standing straight in the air as Arielle whisked the blankets off of him. “Why,” he gasped, “Fuck, _fuck, god, oh my god_ —”

“You were dreaming, sweetness,” Eliot murmured, soothing. “You were rubbing yourself off the bed, we had to roll you over. We only just caught you in time.”

“It’s not your fault,” Arielle said. “We’ve made you wait so long, your body was just trying to get some relief. We know you didn’t mean to.” She smoothed his hair back from his sweat-soaked face.

“Do you need to be done?” Eliot asked. “We can be done. You’ve made it almost the whole week, you’ve been very good for us. We could finish you now, then give you your reward properly in the morning.”

Quentin sobbed, grinding his head back into the pillows. It was unbelievably tempting, the idea of being done — he was pretty sure he could come just from either of them whispering low and sweet in his ear, he was so goddamn close — and then in the morning they’d make him come again, and again, as much as he wanted, for being so good for them—

He shook his head. “No, I can— I’m gonna wait. I can wait for you.” He sucked in a huge breath, let it out as slowly as he could. “When, uh— when?”

“Any time after sunrise,” Arielle said. “Eliot and I agreed.”

“Okay,” Quentin sighed. Sunrise. That wasn’t that many hours away. He’d have time to calm down, probably get a little bit more sleep, and then when he woke again his partners would take care of him. He’d done it, he’d lasted. He’d been good for them — even better than they’d thought he could be. He smiled triumphantly to himself as he relaxed back into bed, felt the weight of their hands on his body, a delicious promise of release just over the horizon.

-

He woke with light streaming through the shutters and his dick soft against his thigh, feeling more relaxed than he’d felt all week. Arielle snored softly on his right, sprawled all the way to the edge of the bed; Eliot was awake on his left, his latest knitting project spread over his lap. When he saw Quentin stirring, he set his needles aside and curled onto his side, drawing him close.

“Good morning, baby,” he said, nuzzling Quentin’s ear, kissing at his jaw. “How are you feeling?”

“Pretty good,” Quentin said. “Weirdly. Since you two have spent the whole week fucking tormenting me.”

Eliot laughed. Quentin’s dick got a little bit less soft. “Yeah, but you’ve loved it. We know you. You can’t accept just _having_ things that make you happy, so you have to complain endlessly about them. The more you bitch about something, the more you’re enjoying it.”

Quentin flushed. “Shush,” he said, instead of rising to the bait. “Ari needs her sleep.”

“No she doesn’t,” Arielle said, rolling over to press her face to Quentin’s shoulder with her eyes closed. “She’s up.” Her hand rubbed lazily over his stomach, then slid further so she could tangle her fingers with Eliot’s. “Ready for whatever the day might bring.”

“Yeah, you sound ready,” Quentin teased.

Her lips pressed against his upper arm, followed quickly by her teeth. “I don’t have to stand for this sass,” she said. She dragged her nails over his belly, down one thigh — and in and up, fingertips skimming his balls, dancing over his not-really-soft-anymore shaft. “I’m perfectly happy to go another week.”

Even knowing she was teasing, Quentin’s heart plummeted. “No,” he managed around the sudden panic in his chest. “Please, no—”

“So stop sassing,” Eliot chimed in, his broad palm wrapping over Quentin’s throat. “You were so good for us, baby. Let us be good to you, now.”

“Yeah,” Quentin sighed, all the fight draining immediately out of his body. Arielle’s slim fingers continued caressing his cock. After a full week without coming, it jumped to attention _extremely_ fucking quickly, straining up against her palm, head swollen and sensitive even though — or maybe because — she hadn’t even touched it there yet.

Arielle laughed, clear and cheerful. “There’s our sweet thing,” she said. “How would you like to come, love? All options are on the table.”

Quentin moaned as Eliot tongued at his earlobe and Arielle stroked him softly. Any answer he tried to piece together dissipated as quickly as it had appeared; words were too much work. _Thoughts_ were too much work. His body was already simmering with pent-up pleasure, his nerves sparking with it. 

“Here are some choices,” Eliot murmured, endlessly patient. “You can fuck Ari, or me. I can fuck you. One or both of us can suck your cock or eat you out. We can jerk you off. Or I suppose you can jerk yourself off, but I’d really like to touch you.” His hand joined Arielle’s between Quentin’s legs, rolling his balls gently against his palm. “I’ve missed touching this pretty dick.”

Quentin bucked up into their hands. His nipples were tight, his face flushed. “Dunno,” he whined.

“Okay,” Eliot said. His hand stopped moving but stayed in place; Arielle’s lightly gripped the base of Quentin’s cock. “Narrowing it down. Do you want to fuck someone?”

God, of course he _fucking_ wanted to, but— they’d be so tight, either of them, and burning hot, and that would probably be overwhelming. He’d be done immediately, and not in a satisfying way. “No.”

“Do you want to get fucked?”

Ari’s fingers, Eliot’s fingers, Eliot’s dick — sweet stretch and pressure, something to tighten down on as the tension built in the cradle of his hips— “Maybe,” he said. “Fingers.”

“Mmkay, now we’re getting somewhere.” Eliot pulled on Quentin’s leg, making him bend his knee, spread his thighs apart. “Fingers, from one of us. Do you want your cock sucked?”

Quentin sobbed, his cock twitching, leaking over his stomach. “A little,” he said. “But I want— oh fuck, I want hands, for the end. Wanna c-come all over myself.”

“I like this plan,” Arielle said. “My fingers, maybe? Eliot’s mouth?”

“Please,” Quentin breathed, his last threads of coherence slipping away. Eliot leaned in to kiss him, and he fell into it easily, soothed into silence by Eliot’s tongue stroking across his. He felt Eliot’s free hand tracing the tuts of the cleaning charm on his belly, the bed shifting as Arielle got up, then shifting again when she returned to brush lube-coated fingers over his balls.

Eliot kept kissing him as Ari worked her first finger into him, gentle with his over-sensitive skin. When she had Quentin rocking forward into her, spreading his legs as wide as they could go, Eliot left his mouth, began kissing his way over Quentin’s cheek, his throat, his chest.

When Eliot pulled his cock into his mouth, enveloping it in slick warm pleasure, Quentin arched up off the bed, pushing up so suddenly that even Eliot’s hand planted on his hip didn’t quite hold him down. Eliot coughed as Quentin’s cockhead hit the back of his throat unexpectedly. “Oh, fuck,” Quentin gasped, “fuck— sorry, oh, I just can’t— _fuck_ —” Guilt burned through his belly, but Eliot was still sucking, focusing now on the head of Quentin’s cock, his tongue teasing in circles around the slit.

“It’s all right, sweetness,” Arielle said. She had two fingers pushed into Quentin now, petting and massaging. “We know how badly you need it. We won’t expect you to be as well-behaved as normal.”

Quentin sobbed, throwing his arm over his face, bucking and writhing as Eliot lavished attention on his cock, Arielle played with his ass. “Fuck, god, ‘m so— it’s so good—”

“You’re close?” Ari prompted.

“Yeah,” Quentin agreed breathlessly. “Yeah— fuck—”

The heat and tension in his core had reached a boiling point, his balls drawing up tight against his body, his toes curling, pleasure singing through his chest. It was so fucking good— it was so _fucking_ good, he didn’t want it to end— “Make me wait,” he gasped. “Make me, just a little, don’t let me— wanna beg—”

Eliot made a growling noise deep in his throat, sending delicious shockwaves through Quentin’s cock. He pulled off, worked his huge hand over Quentin’s slick length, quick and efficient. “We’ve made you wait so long already,” he said. “What’s a little longer, after all?” He picked up the pace with his hand. “Don’t come.”

Quentin keened. The slide of Eliot’s thumb over his cockhead, the stretch of Arielle’s fingers in him, it was all pushing him to an unbearably sharp peak. “Can I— can I?”

“Can you what?” Arielle’s voice was intensely focused. Quentin knew if he could open his eyes and look at her, he’d see her gaze cutting between his cock and his face, excitedly cataloging all the signs of his impending orgasm.

“Come, can I come—”

“Not yet.”

“When you come,” Eliot said, still stroking, not letting up even as Quentin’s whole body went taut and tears leaked from the corners of his eyes, “you’re going to get it all over yourself. Get all fucking dirty for us, make such a mess.”

“Please _please_ can I, I need to come, Eliot fuck you have to let me fuck fuck—”

“I don’t _have_ to,” Eliot said, “but I will. Come for us, baby, give it to us, let go—”

Quentin _screamed_ , choked on it, arched his hips all the way off the bed as his cock jerked once in Eliot’s grasp, then again, and he was _coming_. He collapsed back onto the bed as his orgasm tore through him, clamping down on Arielle’s fingers inside him, spurting so hard he felt hot droplets hit his chin. All the intensity of seven days of merciless teasing unraveled inside him at once, whiting out his vision and wiping his mind clean of all thoughts, all worries, anything except _yes, yes, yes_. 

It seemed like it lasted forever, and also seemed like it was over in a heartbeat. Quentin’s awareness faded back in, first the sensation of fingers still working deep in his body, more fingers running carefully over his spent cock. He hissed, shied away from the touch where he was too sensitive, and the fingers disappeared, replaced by hands on his thighs, on his hips — soothing him, rubbing his tingling skin — hands attached to Eliot, who stretched out along one side of him, lovely and solid, and to Arielle, crawling up on his other side, kissing his cheek.

“Look at you,” she said quietly. “You’re covered in it.”

Quentin peeled his eyes open, squinting through the sunlight, and looked down at himself. He really was covered, come all over his stomach and chest and throat, undeniable evidence of how good he’d been for them, and how good his reward had been in return. Pride washed through him, and he smiled, let his head fall back onto the pillow and his eyes close again.

“I can’t believe you held all this in for us,” Eliot said. Quentin felt his long fingers drag through the mess on his stomach, rub it into his chest hair. “And yes, I know that that’s not how biology works, you can spare me the ‘well actually’. But you did it, baby.” He kissed Quentin’s shoulder, the rasp of his scruff lighting up Quentin’s nerves. “You took everything we gave you.”

“And made it harder on yourself a few times,” Arielle added, sounding amused. “But I suppose we could have expected that.”

Quentin didn’t even bother with a _What’s that supposed to mean?_ , knowing full well that she was right. “It was so good,” he croaked, then cleared his throat. “I’m glad we did it. I also think I never want to do it that long again.”

Eliot laughed and nuzzled at Quentin’s cheek. “Fair enough. Although,” he said thoughtfully, “we did get a full dozen patterns done this week. Maybe keeping you on edge is the key to solving this thing.”

“You— no. Definitely not, nuh-uh.”

“The beauty of all life is our pretty boy desperately wanting to come and having to hold himself back? I can believe it,” Arielle teased.

“And you— you are just— fucking Christ,” Quentin said, throwing an arm over his eyes as indignance and amusement fought to control his expression. “Why do I love letting you two do this to me?”

“There’s no rhyme or reason to what the heart wants. Or what the cock wants, for that matter.” Quentin shuddered as Arielle punctuated her words by running a finger slowly down the length of his soft dick. Soft — but not oversensitive, anymore. Quentin’s heartbeat picked up as slowly but surely his cock started to thicken again, spurred along by Arielle’s teasing.

Cool air washed over Quentin’s torso as Eliot cleared away the mess of come with a quick spell. “Time for round two already, hm? How would you like us, baby?”

“Nn, um,” Quentin said, squirming under Arielle’s light touch. “How many more rounds are we doing? So I can — ah! — prioritize.”

Eliot kissed his jaw, dragged his tongue down the side of his neck. “As many rounds as it takes before you stop being all needy and eager for us.”

“So, that’s gonna be — an infinite number, then? Because that’s, _fuck_ , that’s never happening.”

Arielle and Eliot both laughed, warming Quentin’s whole body with the sound of it. “We’ll have to stop to eat, sometimes,” Arielle pointed out. “But other than that…” She pressed a kiss to his thigh. “We’ll stay here for as long as you want, love.”


End file.
